WAKING FROM A deep, dreamless sleep, Brennus felt an unfamiliar weight wedged against his shoulder. He didn’t have to open his eyes to know it was Althea, sleeping beside him. He lay quietly for a time, listening to her breathe and feeling her skin warming his. The scent of her had changed since last night. He could smell himself on her now. That, too, gave him no small pleasure.

At last he looked upon her, tucked beneath his arm, her cheek pressed to his skinwork. Her flame-red hair, rumpled by his hands, lay in a soft, bright cloud around her pretty face. He’d never seen a woman look so contented, but then all he knew of women were pleasure lasses. They’d been solemn, as befitted their task, performing a necessary duty with the Pritani’s most dangerous beasts. Some had been fearful, others gripped by lust, but all of them had looked upon Brennus without a flicker of affection or kindness.

Now Althea slept beside him, as trusting as a wife with her husband. As if he were no more than an ordinary warrior, abed with his lady.

The Chieftain of the Skaraven would never be ordinary or a husband. But as a man Brennus yearned for that now, if only to have that simple life with her. To protect and care for her. To take her to bed every night, to love her and wake every morning like this. To watch her belly swell with his bairns, and then to see her suckle them at her breast. To raise their sons and daughters and grow old together. To lay beside her in the ground, together even after death. That might have been their life, had he and Althea been born to this time. Just a man and woman, destined to meet and to love.

The raven on his shoulder turned its head and looked upon Althea. Its eyes glittered as it then beheld Brennus.

You’ve a second life, the clan, and freedom, a scratchy voice said from within. ’Twill be as you shall have it, Chieftain. Yet you remain bound to what you’ve been. Did your mate teach you naught?

Brennus carefully eased away from Althea, and silently rose to dress. His skinwork stung like nettles on torn flesh, but the pain was nothing compared to his own shame. He looked back at his lady for a long moment before he left his chamber and made his way to the great hall.

Every member of the clan stood waiting for him, their eyes narrowed and their bodies stiff. Cadeyrn would not meet his gaze, nor Ruadri, who clutched the stone vial he wore around his neck.

“Fair morning, Chieftain,” Taran greeted him, his expression resigned.

“My baws ’tis fair.” Kanyth came forward, his hands wrapped in crusted bandages. “Threeday I work without rest, and you send the raven to wake me? For what? To take up the hammer with my teeth?”

“Your spirit drove every one of us from our beds, Chieftain,” Cadeyrn said stiffly. “No’ even the sentries and patrols couldnae remain on duty. The raven compelled us to assemble and wait on you.” He sounded tired and angry. “What does it want?”

Brennus picked up a bucket of water from the hearth and dropped it on the long table. He then took his half-brother by the arm and dragged him over to it.

“We yet live as warrior-slaves. We hide from the world in Dun Mor. We hate those who bred, trained and betrayed us. We turn our backs on the innocent, and their suffering. We’ve become cowards.” He thrust Kanyth’s hands into the water.

The Weapons Master howled, and then went completely still. He raised his hands and tore away the dripping bandages, revealing them to be whole and unmarked. “Fack me. What magic is this?”

“’Tis yours, Ka. Water heals our wounds now and takes us wherever we wish to journey. We cannae age or sicken or die easily. The Skaraven shall never again suffer as we once did. And what do we with these grand gifts?” Brennus dumped the water on the floor. “Naught.”

The Weapons Master flexed his hands. “Now that you’ve shown me the water healing, I’ll be glad to use the bucket.”

“’Tis no’ about that,” Cadeyrn said and came to stand before Brennus. “Ruadri parleyed many gifts and goods from the tree-knowers. Mayhap some were bespelled to bring their old warrior-slaves to heel.”

“You ken that the druids cannae control our battle spirits,” Brennus countered. “’Tis our power, no’ theirs. As for bringing us to heel, we’ve done that for them. Free men dinnae cower and hide from evil. They fight it.”

The clansman all looked at each other, their expressions filled with anger, but their eyes dark with shame.

“The Skaraven have been made immortal so that we might live as we choose. ’Tis time we become free men in truth, and take wives, and build a new life for the clan. Last night my lady agreed to play my wife for the McAra.” He looked up as a shadow stretched out over the clan, taking on the shape of a giant raven. “I dinnae want Althea to pretend it. She’s my woman, and if she’ll have me, I shall marry her.”

“Shouldn’t you be proposing to me?” a wry, sweet voice asked.

Brennus turned to see his lady, resplendent in the emerald gown, walking toward him. She had put up her hair in woven braids that gleamed like a fiery crown. “I didnae wish to wake you.”

“That’s okay.” She hunched her shoulders. “The raven did.”

“My Gods,” Kanyth muttered. “If we can take wives half as lovely, I’ll fight evil.” He yelped as Cadeyrn smacked the back of his head. “I cannae help it. Look at her. She’s a facking princess.”

“Scientist,” Althea drily corrected him. “But I do clean up nicely.” She regarded Brennus as she came to his side and tucked her hand in his.

The raven soared down to perch on Brennus’s arm and spread its wings over him and Althea. It shimmered with blue light before it dissolved away.

“With freedom comes obligation,” the chieftain said. “’Tis for us to fight the evil that has come to destroy our world, for as immortals only we have the power to defeat them. ’Tis the path I choose.” He met Cadeyrn’s scowling gaze. “No’ for the sake of druid kind. I fight for my lady and the others being held. For the mortals the famhairean intend to slaughter. To honor all those who have died at their hands.” He scanned the faces around him. “Will you fight with me?”

Taran dropped to his knee. “Bràithrean an fhithich,” he said, his quiet voice booming through the silent hall.

All around him the Skaraven began to kneel, echoing the battle cry. Kanyth grinned like a boy at Althea as he joined them. Soon every man in the hall knelt before Brennus, except Cadeyrn, who stood looking at Althea, and Ruadri.

Brennus knew he’d never prevail over the giants without his second or his shaman. “Brothers?”

“If ’tis your wish,” Ruadri said as he lumbered forward and knelt before him. “I fight with my chieftain.”

The War Master followed suit, but when he looked up he again inspected Althea. Then he met Brennus’s gaze, and his own turned cold. “I fight with my brothers. As we yet need horses, I will go and prepare for our journey to the midlands.” He stood up and leaned close to say just for his ears, “Only ken this. If you forget yourself, even once, I shall gut you.” He stalked off.

“Okay,” Althea said as she watched him go. “I kind of get the chaining thing now. What was that about?”

He knew but telling her would only make it worse. “Cadeyrn reminds me to remember my duty.” He raised her hand to his lips. “Dinnae fret. He’ll have no reason.”

Brennus sent Kelturan and the cooks to bring the morning meal, and sacks of food for the patrols and sentries to take with them. Bottles of uisge beatha began to appear, and the men toasted him and Althea with the whiskey as if they’d already taken vows. Although it was no time for celebrations, he let the men enjoy their drink while he sent Taran after the War Master.

“They’re no’ married yet, you fools,” Kelturan snapped as he thumped the platters on the table and snatched a uisge beatha bottle from a laughing clansman. He brought a bowl of Althea’s odd oat mash to her and handed the bottle to Brennus. “I dinnae ken if ’tis a wise match for you, Chieftain. The lady eats like a pregnant sow and has a tongue like a boar’s tusk.”

Althea scowled at him. “Did you just call me two kinds of pig?”

“I cannae keep her out of the kitchens, so should you change your mind, I’ll have her.” The cook surreptitiously dropped some raspberries in her bowl. “Should you no’, a sound beating every day should sweeten her temper.”

“I know every single poisonous plant that grows around here,” she told Kelturan. “And you never pay attention to what’s in your mug. That could be tragic.”

“Mayhap two beatings.” The cook trudged off.

Brennus stole one of her berries. “’Twould seem you’ve made another conquest, my lady.”

“Kelturan is not allowed to take a wife,” she told him flatly. “Ever.”

After they shared the morning meal with the clan and Althea changed out of the dress for the journey, Brennus left Ruadri in charge of the stronghold. The chieftain took Althea with him to meet Cadeyrn and Taran down by the water. Cadeyrn brought a small keg to her and opened the top. Instead of containing whiskey, the inside was lined with leather.

“For your dress, my lady,” the War Master said.

“Ah,” she said and carefully tucked it inside.

As Cadeyrn sealed the keg, she moved against Brennus’ side. Touching her made him wish they could delay the journey another week. “Once under the water you’re to hold onto me. I’ll be your breath, my lady.”

Althea looked dubious as she nodded, and then she gave him a sharp look. “I dreamed about you kissing me underwater before I woke up here. You brought me to Dun Mor this way.”

“You’ve found me out.” He skimmed her lower lip with his thumb. “’Twas in truth our first kiss.”

“If we’re to meet the McAra by mid-day,” Cadeyrn called to them, “we must go now.”

Brennus needed his War Master with him to negotiate with the horse-breeders, but when they returned to Dun Mor he’d have to put to rest his growing hostility.

“He’s upset about something else, not you,” Althea said quietly. “He’s been asking me a lot of questions about the other women who were taken. I don’t know why, but I think he’s really worried about them.”

Like Ruadri was about the black-haired healer, Brennus thought as he took Althea’s hand and led her into the currents.

Holding her as he bonded with the water reminded him, too, of the night they’d met. He greatly preferred her awake and nervous to limp and bloody, especially when his transformation made her eyes widen and her lips part.

“You turn into water,” she whispered, touching her fingers to his face.

“Dinnae freeze me,” Brennus said and covered her mouth with his as he thought of the loch nearest the McAra stronghold. Breathing with her as light and froth swirled around them, he let himself merge with the water itself. He could feel his clansmen beside him as they streamed through the highlands and down into the valleys to the northwest. He swallowed Althea’s gasp as he surfaced with her in the loch and swam with her to the shallows.

“That was just like going on the biggest, longest water slide in the world,” she said, laughing like a girl as she waded out of the water beside him. Cadeyrn lugged their journey packs out of the loch, while Althea took the keg a discrete distance into the adjoining woodland and changed.

When she emerged into the dancing light reflected from the loch, Brennus caught his breath. The fiery copper of her braided hair shone above star-bright eyes, their lochan-blue lit from within. The gown, though dazzling its finery, seemed scant next to the beauty of her face. As she neared and her delicate lips gently curved upward, his chest swelled in knowing that her smile was for him. He offered her his hand and beamed down at her when she took it.

“No’ in my time or in this time,” he said, enveloping her hand in both of his, “or any of the centuries between has so lovely a lady graced a chieftain’s arm.”

She’d been about to make a reply when Taran cleared his throat. Brennus thought to melt the man with a glare but went still when he saw a bulging fist holding a dagger to his Horse Master’s throat.

“Stand your ground, lads,” a low, grating voice said.